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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783672">For Nick</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes'>panchostokes (badwolfrun)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: Crime Scene Investigation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nick Stokes Whump, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:07:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrick leaves Nick alone at a crime scene for literally two seconds and comes back to find that he's walked into a horror movie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Warrick Brown &amp; Nick Stokes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For Nick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>just some gratuitous nick whump loosely based on a dream image I had this morning, and an effort to dive a bit into warrick’s head</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s become a bit of an inside joke between the lab and the police station that Nick, with all of his bad luck, should not be left alone at crime scenes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An encounter at gunpoint, a fall out of a second story window, and most recently, an abduction had made them all wonder if the man was somehow cursed, and made Warrick in particular wonder if it was all his fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gunpoint incident, sure, wasn’t his fault but maybe if he had been working that case with Grissom and Nick, he wouldn’t have had to worry when Nick walked into the locker room with a haunted expression and dried tear streaks on his face, shaken and stirred like Warrick had never seen before. He had known Nick well enough by that point to know that whatever had happened--because Nick wasn’t up for talking about it--would follow him for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the first time he was held at gunpoint. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was directly responsible for the window fall, having stepped out on a call--he doesn’t remember what the call was about, just remembers the shattering of the glass, remembers hanging up and dialing 9-1-1 before he even knew it was Nick who had been tossed like a rag doll through the trees and shrubbery, landing on the ground splayed out like a dead bird. He couldn’t touch him, didn’t want to make things worse just sat there and stayed with him even though both his inner self and the broken man were telling him to go after the monster that did this.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick was groaning. His gloved fingers had twitched, finding their way to Warrick’s. Muttering “blood” over and over--it wasn’t until later Nick was trying to alert Warrick of a bloody glove he had found, instead of any concern over the blood that was pouring from his head and neck and down his arms onto his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll never forget how he saw the blood ooze into Nick’s gloved hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The damn fool just wanted to get up and get back to work. Kept insisting it wasn’t Warrick’s fault, he wasn’t paying attention, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t fast enough…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Warrick wasn’t either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was the coin flip. Heads, the victor gets to go work an assault at Stripperama. Sure they would be there for work, and the idea of the place was sleazy--hell, they were there for an assault after all (which turned out was because one of the strippers clapped back on a pervy asshole) but they couldn’t deny the sights were more...pleasurable on the eyes than a trash run in an alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An alley which became a gateway into a nightmare, and in a way, they were still searching for the parts of Nick Stokes that hadn’t made it back above ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet all of this said and all of this done, Nick still insists on running out of the house they were searching, alone, to get something from their shared ride parked half a block away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ordinarily, Warrick wouldn’t think anything of it, but he makes the dangerous assumption that Nick would be safer inside the cleared house than out on the suburban street, decorated with non-functioning streetlights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t take the chance. No coin flips, no rock-paper-scissors. All bets are off the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he goes out to the car, grabs the ALS, which takes him just slightly longer to find because Nick was a bit hasty in his packing of his car and seemed to just kind of toss everything in--but he refrains from any judgement, knowing that his head wasn’t entirely in the game yet, and he managed to do a much better job that Sanders would have--but when he returns to the house, his heart sinks, anchored in guilt as he finds that somehow, he had walked into the set of a horror movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick is face down on the floor, his face planted to the hardwood flooring, his eyes wide and unblinking. Sweat coating his paling skin, his eyebrows bouncing in a furrow, as if he’s trying to figure something out but...can’t. Warrick watches as his fingers twitch in his palms, face up, still holding the ghost of whatever evidence he must have found, and must have been robbed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a streak of blood on the wall in front of him. A dried waterfall, pouring into the small reservoir of blood underneath his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Officer!” Warrick shouts, dropping the ALS by the door and immediately rushing to Nick’s aide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too...late…” Nick drawls out in a raspy breath. “G-gone…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, shh, shh,” Warrick gently rolls Nick over as he pulls out his phone, calls for an ambulance first, then back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushes Nick’s flattened hair out of the way, sees the large gash and looks up at the wall, visualizes the surprise, the impact, the fall to the ground, all too fast for Nick to even say a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hhhhhhhe took...it…” Nick continues to speak, stubborn as ever, his own health be damned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky, buddy, relax, don’t worry, we’ll get it back,” Warrick lifts him up, inspecting for any other wounds. Nick’s breathing is irregular--he hiccups, his spine is protruding out of his back, his heart rapidly fluttering against the palm of Warrick’s hand on his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds a needle mark at the back of Nick’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t...feel...anything…” Nick slurs, every word that falls out of his mouth seems to take tremendous effort. A paralytic, perhaps? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Warrick thinks,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I shouldn’t have moved him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I got you,” Warrick assures him, setting him in his lap. Where are the damn paramedics? “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just don’t move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll hurt...less...if I don’t move…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warrick’s face falls to puzzlement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you talking about, man?” he knows it’s no good, Nick’s mind is scattered, he’s not thinking straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ants...won’t bite...as much…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t put the connection together until later, that the man must have mistook the tingling needles of numbness for the crawling insect legs running across his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nick, hey--” Warrick grabs his hand, entangles it with his own. He holds their hands between both of their chests, shaking to keep Nick’s attention. “You’re not down there anymore. You’re here, with me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No...air…” Nick rasps, and he’s trapped in the limbo of a sharp inhale that he can’t seem to release.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, Nicky!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everythin’s gr-green…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, don’t talk, just stay with me,” Warrick tells him, feeling as if something was...fading. The life he holds cradled in his hands slipping through like sand, no matter how hard he clings onto it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head bobs up, his eyes twitch but don’t close despite his best efforts. A small trickle of blood slides down the crinkles of his skin, into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blood…” he whispers, and then falls silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nicky? Nicky, hey…” Warrick shakes his body, his eyes are still open, he’s gotta be alive--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s no air coming out of his gaping mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his lips are turning blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warrick lets go of his hand, splays it over Nick’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No heartbeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, you don’t!” Warrick cries out. He’s gone through too much for </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the thing that does him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to do chest compressions, even tries a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The whole time, doesn’t dare to tear his eyes away from Nick, even when the paramedics come and take over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re able to revive him, thank Warrick for his efforts, and cart him into the ambulance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warrick insists on going with, as he always does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holds Nick’s hand as he’s wheeled into the ER. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waits in the hallway, his head anchored to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body has never felt so heavy--somehow even heavier than the last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the team shows up, as they did before, taking their usual positions, occupying the hallway and ignoring the glares and huffs from the bustling hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their useless, helpless positions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All they can do is wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when he realizes that they’re just as cursed--trapped in the same cycle, just as Nick is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warrick stands up, looks into the room where Nick lays on a bed, unconscious, tied up in tubes and wires. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But life is too short for this, he’s wasting time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nick will recover, he always does. Still has at least five lives off of his nine-count. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The person responsible is still out there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breaks the cycle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Nick. </span>
</p>
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